


Skyward Bound

by Bock_Bock_Motherclucker



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Multi, Not a Multiple Dragonborn Fic, Thalmor, back story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bock_Bock_Motherclucker/pseuds/Bock_Bock_Motherclucker
Summary: Struthio Iethani dreams of fire. Not just the blaze that destroyed his family’s home, but an inferno caused by something with wings.Nadia Montclair is losing everything she loves. When the Thalmor arrive, they plan to take her life as well.Elanin Larenthios enjoys all the perks of being a highborn lady, if one counts imprisonment and being used as a political pawn perks.Dargo Vinateri is settling in with his new adoptive family and hoping to escape a turbulent past, but he’s rarely ever so lucky.When these four strangers’ paths cross the events set in motion will change the fate of Tamriel.





	1. Chapter 1

_Ashes. Black fakes fell to the ground like dead moths. The heat was intense: searing, scorching. Winged death took fight. Darker than midnight, heart of an abyss, it roared and rose to swallow the sky._

_Lightning arced across the air, only it came from the ground up. A dark figure skirted across the field. Their blades reflected a hellish red._

_The air around his became impossibly hotter; the whole world seemed to become an inferno. An armored figure screamed his name—_

“Struthio, we’re here!” His sister, Arum, shoved him so hard he thought the carriage lurched. He growled a nonsensical insult under his breath and rubbed his eyes. The dream had been so vivid that the dim lighting of their carriage gave him a shock. His skin still felt hot past the point of feverish, as if he’d been touched by flame.

“Arum,” Their mother, Myvera, scolded as she placed her hand on her swollen abdomen. He could feel his her crimson eyes on him, though he couldn’t meet them. For all she appeared to be concerned, he might as well have been an oil lantern over a fire pit. 

“By Mephala, Mother, he’s fine.” Arum huffed. Struthio appreciated the comment, but doubted anyone was convinced.

“No one is fond of rude awakenings, my dear.” Remaryn said. Decades spent owning an inn had made their father an effective peace-keeper. 

Struthio exhaled, wishing his family still spoke to him instead of about him. “It’s alright, she didn’t scare me enough to burn us all to bits.” He cringed when he realized what he said and loathed the silence that followed. 

“Right, then,” Remaryn clasped his hands together, “shall we see our new home?”

 

Struthio had never been so cold in his entire life. The cold he thought he’d known in Cheydinhal was only the faintest of chills by comparison. Bruma—his new home—laughed in the face of cold and crushed chilly underfoot. Freezing hardly did Bruma’s bitter winds justice.

He hated the frigid city from the moment he stepped out of the carriage. 

Arum wasn’t faring any better. Her usual scowl had deepened to a topographical map of supreme discomfort. 

“I wonder how Gram can stand to live here.” He said.

“Because we Dunmer just adore freezing the tips of our ears off, little brother.” If her words were any heavier with sarcasm, they would have clattered to the frozen ground. 

Remaryn laughed, “True, but she stayed her for your grandfather, not the weather.” He said as he helped their mother out of the carriage. 

“Even worse,” Thio mumbled. Arum smirked. 

Myvera shot them each sharp looks. “Enough yappin, we’ve plenty of bags to carry and I’m already pulling more than my own weight.” 

With that they grabbed the few bags they had and made for their grandmother’s home.

Her home was larger than many of the others surrounding it, but still smaller than the Flaming Blade Inn, where he’d lived nearly all his life. It hugged one of Burma’s frozen city walls and its windows were shuttered. Thick grey smoke rose from the chimney.

Just the smell of smoke left Thio uneasy. It made him remember their Inn, full of smoke thick enough to blind and choke. Sometimes, he thought he could still feel the heat against this skin…

An ice-cold gust of wind snapped him back to the present. He was glad for it, otherwise he would have slammed into his sister. They stood before the door, Remaryn reached out to knock—

“Just open it!” Shouted a voice from inside. Their father looked shocked, but Myvera just sighed and turned the handle. “Hello, mother.”

Myvera had never told them much about Drolsa, her mother. Struthio had often imagined her to be like the grandmothers of the few friends he had: warm and kindly. Yet part of him had always wondered why his mother had never said much. Was she a cruel hag, like the twisted she-beasts he’d read about as a child?

Naturally, no one in the house met his expectations. 

Two people sat at a small wooden table in front of a crackling fireplace. The youngest could not have been much older than Thio himself at one-and-six. He’d guess she was at least partly a Breton, given her short stature and the slight points of her ears but the sharp angles of her face hinted at Nordic blood. Her dark brown hair that fell to her jawline, and her grey eyes looked bright with anger.  
The woman seated across from her was obviously a Dunmer, with her grey skin and silver-streaked red hair, the colors of fire and ash. Her body was hard and lean, unlike both the plump matron and gnarled crone he’d imagined. Her expression was neutral, despite the young woman’s vicious snarl. She regarded them all as if they were devoid of interest to her. Thio had seen plenty of liars and gamblers so he knew a trained expression when he saw one. If she ever decided to gamble, he wouldn’t bet against her.

Her blood-red eyes flickered over to the human girl. “Would you excuse us, my dear young Montclair?”

“Gladly,” The girl spat. She snatched a satchel off the table with one hand and slammed a coin purse down with the other and rushed to the door before Thio could get out of her way. Her shoulder slammed into his and nearly knocked him off his feet.

“Hey!” He shouted, but she’d already slammed the door behind her. 

Remaryn’s brows nearly touched his hairline. Arum looked ready to laugh. His mother simply shook her head. 

“Chaos walks with that girl. It will make her life interesting, if not enjoyable.” Drolsa sounded amused by the fact.

“Don’t just linger by the door, go meet your grandmother.” Myvera grabbed her children’s shoulders. Thio glanced at Arum, feeling ten years younger. She rolled her eyes and walked over to the woman.

“Hello--”

“You’re a scrawny thing, aren’t you? You take more after those Iethanis, I see,” She cocked her head to the side, “Your narrow hips wouldn’t be any good for birthing, but I sense you will be otherwise occupied. You have a great many grave worms to feed.” 

“Umm…” His sister was rarely without a scowl and never speechless, so Thio would have relished it if he wasn’t so terrified. 

“Help your parents with the bags, child.” 

Arum blinked and scampered away from their grandmother. 

“It’s lovely to see you again, Drolsa.”

She waved him off. “Save your strength, Remaryn. You’ll be needing it.”

He watched as his father and sister grabbed all they could and hurried out of the room.

Myvera walked over to her mother. Warmth crept into Drolsa’s eyes “My prodigal daughter, returned.”

“Mother, I’m--”

“Rest, my child. We shall find the time to speak later.”

His mother looked back at him, and then made for the other rooms.

For an instant, Drolsa looked forlorn. “You wouldn’t make an old woman get up, now would you?”

“No, I’m sorry--”

“Don’t apologize!” She snapped, “Just act.”

And so he did. He sat in the chair across from her and willed himself to meet her eyes. His pulse pounded. He felt like a match was being held under his skin.

“Good lad, you a take after our Vinateri blood. Tell me, child, what have you seen?”

 _Grass is green, the sky is blue_ , was what he wanted to say but he knew this was a test of sorts. He panted his palms on his thighs, and hopped they wouldn’t cause his pants to smolder. “Do you mean what I’ve dreamt?”

“More than dream, they are. Much, much more.” She might have said more, but she suddenly looked like she’d been struck. 

“Are you o--?”

A scream cut his sentence short.


	2. Chapter 2

Nadia Montclair cursed the old Vinateri woman her whole way home. It was a short walk, but she made use of it. Mist plumed into the air with every angry word, like smoke from a dragon’s maw. _“A lost cause…”_ the words still rang in her head, as loud as the city bell.

“Bugger the hag,” she muttered. Drolsa probably frightened all of her customers so they would buy more of her herbs, Nadia reasoned. It was a shame that Drolsa was Bruma’s cheapest apothecary. If Nadia had more coin, she wouldn’t bother with the woman.

_“Child, you asked me for the truth.”_

Shaking her head, she swallowed her rage and stepped through the door to her home. She could save her snarls and snorts for when her parents were out of earshot. Her father, Louis, was seated by the hearth, the light and shadow from the flames was warring for his face. He hadn’t trimmed his rust colored beard in months and his hair stuck up in odd angles. Judging by his slouched shoulders and hunched back he looked ready to fall out of his chair. His head drooped, his bleary eyes fixed on the wooden bowl in his hands. 

She didn’t need to look at it to know it was nearly full. In fact, when she set a hand on her father’s shoulder she tried not to. “I brought the herbs.” She said, just to break the silence. He smiled his thanks. His face was wan and weary. 

“Go to sleep, Da. I’ll stay up with her.”

“Nadia…” He said.

“ _Sleep_ , you need it.” She redirected her anger into the command because, by Talos, it needed to go somewhere. 

“And what about you?” He asked.

“I’ll be fine, Da.” She insisted. It was a lie of course, she doubted either of them would be fine for a while. She took the bowl from him and brought her lips to his forehead. “Please just go to sleep.” 

With a sigh akin to a death rattle, he stood. “Just don’t stay up with her all night, alright?”

You would, but she knew better than to say that. 

He bent to kiss his prone wife and Nadia looked away. She dumped the contents of the bowl into the fire and busied herself with finding their mortar and pestle. The herbs Drolsa Vinateri sold her were solely for numbing pain, the only way she insisted Nadia’s mother could be helped. 

She didn’t fully believe the crone. Her mother, Odessa, was strong enough to fight in war, mend armor, and forge blades—

A horrible, wheezing cough broke through Nadia’s thoughts. If her hands had tightened anymore she would have ground the herbs and mortar to dust. “Hey, ma.” She said.

“Nadia,” Odessa’s voice was pained and whispered. She turned and faced her mother as a scream cut through the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Elanin Larenthios shifted in her seat as much as her attire would allow. The fine violet silk of her gown felt like nettles against her skin. Perspiration poured below her gilded collar, only partly due to the heat. She’d been trained for this, she knew. Her mother, Lithiel, had stuffed her in elaborate gowns and hateful corsets since she’d first flowered. A proper lady—according to her training—should sit still and smile demurely.

Elanin was failing miserably. Her cool demeanor melted as soon as she entered the courtyard. Sweat down her skin like so many candles. She picked at her dress, and the glances her fidgeting were earning from her mother were furious. _I’m to be wed _, she thought. It all seemed so absurd that she nearly laughed aloud.__

__Her parents, on the other hand, held their composure as though their lives depended on it—not just their fortune. Their smiles came easily. Words took nimble flight from their lips, adding to the insect swarm of chatter in the air._ _

__Imaril Rael, her intended, grinned at her from across the table. He was handsome enough; His skin was an unblemished green-gold and his blond hair was shaven on both sides of his head, fitting a new trend. He offered little in way of conversation. So far his lexicon had been limited to compliments, making sure her parents were aware of the beauty of their garden, the woven canopy above their heads, and of their sole daughter._ _

__Perhaps he was as nervous as she was, or simply dull. For her own sake, she hoped against the latter. She was surprised her parents had agreed to the match. The Raels descended from merchants, and consequently had too much coin and too little power. She came from the blood of mages. Her ancestors had often been prominent in the Mages’ Guild, some had even served Skywatch’s ruling family.__

____

____

__She could name half a dozen families with heirs her age and bloodlines that would better suit her own. The Aedires, the Anthalls, the Nandils…yet she was sitting across from a boy whose family’s only claim to provenance was clever bargaining. She may as well have been traded for goats._ _

__“You look so lovely.” Imaril told her. Again._ _

___I should _, she thought, _after three hours I would have rather spent doing _anything _else _. She smiled in reply, demurely, even—while she tried not to vomit.______ _ _

________Her handmaiden Nira stepped onto their platform with an ornate silver wine decanter in hand. Nira’s expression was terse, like she’d bitten into a bitter melon. Ela’s smile was more genuine after seeing her. She didn’t look at her for long, better to let Imaril think she was swayed by his pleasantires and boot-licking._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She couldn’t help but tense when Nira passed behind her to fill her father, Tauron’s cup. The spiced wine was so strong that it made her nostrils flare. Despite herself, she glanced at Nira while she poured. They locked eyes, and Nira’s expression softened from a scowl to a grimace._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Tauron waved to dismiss Nira, causing her to jump and splash the three of them with wine. “Milord, I--”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Tauron rose, whipping around like a snake with a foot upon its tail. “Useless wench!” He raised his hand and—_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“ _No _!” Ela shouted. She sprang to her feet and caught her father’s wrist.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Nira recoiled in shock. She stepped back, only to slip off of the platform and fall into the shallow pond below. Wine spilled into the water, surrounding Nira in a red corona._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Ela couldn’t move. Tauron’s eyes burned like mage fire. The courtyard went silent, as though every insect hovered midair to watch. “Stop this, both of you!” Her mother’s voice ran out like a blade being unsheathed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He brought his other hand out to slap Ela across the face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Lithiel cried out in surprise. A few shrieks and gasps escaped from their guests, Ela wagered some were stifling laughter._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Tauron left the platform, undoubtedly unwilling to remain in wine-splattered robes any longer. Ela sat back down, her back as stiff as a lightning rod. Her shock was literal; she could feel the electric current running underneath her skin, waiting to be called upon._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________She ignored it along with everything else. As the scattered chatter fluttered back to life, she only listened for Nira climbing out of the pond below. She could feel the many eyes trained on her, so she fixed her eyes on the canopy above her, better than seeing their amusement or pity. She willed her hand away from her aching jaw._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
